LenaQuinn has been dead for six months. You still remember the encounter you had with your child at the wake. You have been debating back and forth about what to do, but have told no one, not even your best friend or older sister, that you went to the wake, and then sent anonymous flowers to the funeral. Should you call to let them know you were there, try to reconnect with them after you dropped off the face of the earth for no apparent reason? Or should you just forget about the whole thing, get on with your life, and allow them to move on in their grief?

What happens?
Your place of employment hosts a school function for children, educating them on possible future career pursuits. This amuses you and you volunteer to help set up hosting presentations for them. The day the children arrive, you are at the door with the event organizer and your boss, greet the students, teachers, and chaperones at the door. Your heart nearly stops when you recognize your child in the crowd--and he or she recognizes you. The two of you stare at each other and you are loss for words. As your child comes closer to you, he or she opens their mouth to speak, but they are interrupted by their friend excitedly walking beside them. He turns away from you and follows his class. Relieved, you exhale then walk quickly back to your office, ignoring a questioning glance from your boss.

You are willing to forget about the whole incident altogether. That is, until, two days later, the secretary comes knocking on your office door, announcing you have a visitor in the waiting room. You leave your work at your desk and head to the waiting room, thinking it might be your best friend, who is expecting her first child and frequently visits you. But it's not your friend--it is a man you know very well: AlistairQuinn.

He looks up from the magazine that he is reading to see you standing in the doorway. The two of you are alone, which you are grateful--you don't know what to say or do, and you are uncertain of what he will say or do. He calmly puts the magazine down on the coffee table and stands up, then awkwardly smiles. He says you haven't changed much in five years. You ask him how he found you. He says Aiden told him about a woman who gave him a yellow rose at his wife's wake, then the nameless flowers arrived a week later at the funeral. He thought it might be you. Turns out, he still talks to your child's biological father, Theo, and he said he had not heard from you in over a year. Then, two days ago, your child comes home and tells his dad they saw the woman again. He called your boss and asked if she had an employee by the name of EmilyHarper and his initial gut instinct was proven right. He took his day off from work to come in to see you, talk to you. He wants to know why you did not come forward.

You explain that you were afraid of upsetting him and Aiden, disrupting their lives even more than it already was. You were nervous that your child might not have known he or she was adopted. But you don't tell him that you began to estrange yourself from their family not because you wanted to, but you felt as though you had to because you did not want to betray his sweet wife.

As he hugs you, Alistair says you would not have disrupted their lives at all and that Aiden knows he is adopted. He asks if you would like to meet them. Teary-eyed, you gladly say yes.

Charlotte has been dead for six months. You still remember the encounter you had with your child at the wake. You have been debating back and forth about what to do, but have told no one, not even your best friend or older sister, that you went to the wake, and then sent anonymous flowers to the funeral. Should you call to let them know you were there, try to reconnect with them after you dropped off the face of the earth for no apparent reason? Or should you just forget about the whole thing, get on with your life, and allow them to move on in their grief?

Even #: Your place of employment, VirginiaBeach Hospital, hosts a school function for children, educating them on possible future career pursuits. This amuses you and you volunteer to help set up hosting presentations for them. The day the children arrive, you are at the door with the event organizer and your boss, greet the students, teachers, and chaperones at the door. Your heart nearly stops when you recognize your child in the crowd--and she recognizes you. The two of you stare at each other and you are lost for words. As your child comes closer to you, she opens their mouth to speak, but they are interrupted by their friend excitedly walking beside them. she turns away from you and follows her class. Relieved, you exhale then walk quickly back to your office, ignoring a questioning glance from your boss.

You are willing to forget about the whole incident altogether. That is, until, two days later, the secretary comes knocking on your office door, announcing you have a visitor in the waiting room. You leave your work at your desk and head to the waiting room, thinking it might be your best friend, who is expecting her first child and frequently visits you. But it's not your friend--it is a man you know very well: Paul.

He looks up from the magazine that he is reading to see you standing in the doorway. The two of you are alone, which you are grateful--you don't know what to say or do, and you are uncertain of what he will say or do. He calmly puts the magazine down on the coffee table and stands up, then awkwardly smiles. He says you haven't changed much in 6 years. You ask him how he found you. He says Madison told him about a woman who gave her a yellow rose at his wife's wake, then the nameless flowers arrived a week later at the funeral. He thought it might be you. Turns out, he still talks to your child's biological father, Ryan, and he said he had not heard from you in over a year. Then, two days ago, your child comes home and tells her dad they saw the woman again. He called your boss and asked if she had an employee by the name of Emily and his initial gut instinct was proven right. He took his day off from work to come in to see you, talk to you. He wants to know why you did not come forward.

You explain that you were afraid of upsetting him and Madison, disrupting their lives even more than it already was. You were nervous that your child might not have known he or she was adopted. But you don't tell him that you began to estrange yourself from their family not because you wanted to, but you felt as though you had to because you did not want to betray his sweet wife.

As he hugs you, Paul says you would not have disrupted their lives at all and that Madison knows she is adopted. He asks if you would like to meet them. Teary-eyed, you gladly say yes.

Caitlin has been dead for six months. You still remember the encounter you had with your child at the wake. You have been debating back and forth about what to do, but have told no one, not even your best friend or older sister, that you went to the wake, and then sent anonymous flowers to the funeral. Should you call to let them know you were there, try to reconnect with them after you dropped off the face of the earth for no apparent reason? Or should you just forget about the whole thing, get on with your life, and allow them to move on in their grief?

Your place of employment, St. Vincent's Hospital, hosts a school function for children, educating them on possible future career pursuits. This amuses you and you volunteer to help set up hosting presentations for them. The day the children arrive, you are at the door with the event organizer and your boss, greet the students, teachers, and chaperones at the door. Your heart nearly stops when you recognize your child in the crowd--and she recognizes you. The two of you stare at each other and you are lost for words. As your child comes closer to you, she opens their mouth to speak, but they are interrupted by their friend excitedly walking beside them. She turns away from you and follows her class. Relieved, you exhale then walk quickly back to your office, ignoring a questioning glance from your boss.

You are willing to forget about the whole incident altogether. That is, until, two days later, the secretary comes knocking on your office door, announcing you have a visitor in the waiting room. You leave your work at your desk and head to the waiting room, thinking it might be your best friend, who is expecting her first child and frequently visits you. But it's not your friend--it is a man you know very well: Matthew.

He looks up from the magazine that he is reading to see you standing in the doorway. The two of you are alone, which you are grateful--you don't know what to say or do, and you are uncertain of what he will say or do. He calmly puts the magazine down on the coffee table and stands up, then awkwardly smiles. He says you haven't changed much in 6 years. You ask him how he found you. He says Mia told him about a woman who gave her a yellow rose at his wife's wake, then the nameless flowers arrived a week later at the funeral. He thought it might be you. Turns out, he still talks to your child's biological father, John, and he said he had not heard from you in over a year. Then, two days ago, your child comes home and tells her dad they saw the woman again. He called your boss and asked if she had an employee by the name of Megan and his initial gut instinct was proven right. He took his day off from work to come in to see you, talk to you. He wants to know why you did not come forward.

You explain that you were afraid of upsetting him and Mia, disrupting their lives even more than it already was. You were nervous that your child might not have known she was adopted. But you don't tell him that you began to estrange yourself from their family not because you wanted to, but you felt as though you had to because you did not want to betray his sweet wife.

As he hugs you, Matthew says you would not have disrupted their lives at all and that Mia knows she is adopted. He asks if you would like to meet them. Teary-eyed, you gladly say yes.

Sarah has been dead for six months. You still remember the encounter you had with your child at the wake. You have been debating back and forth about what to do, but have told no one, not even your best friend or older sister, that you went to the wake, and then sent anonymous flowers to the funeral. Should you call to let them know you were there, try to reconnect with them after you dropped off the face of the earth for no apparent reason? Or should you just forget about the whole thing, get on with your life, and allow them to move on in their grief?

Your sister, Tallulah gets herself a job at Disney World, and asks you if you want a free day at the park, since she gets a discounted pass. You happily oblige and you and your best friend, Molly go together, and have a blast. While in line you are tapped on the shoulder and turn around to see Michael. You’re shocked to see him here. He tells you he and the kids have moved to Orlando and he took them on a trip to Disney to try and cheer them up. He asks if you want to meet the kids, to which you happily agree.

Jamie has been dead for six months. You still remember the encounter you had with your child at the wake. You have been debating back and forth about what to do, but have told no one, not even your best friend or older sister, that you went to the wake, and then sent anonymous flowers to the funeral. Should you call to let them know you were there, try to reconnect with them after you dropped off the face of the earth for no apparent reason? Or should you just forget about the whole thing, get on with your life, and allow them to move on in their grief?

Several months before, you wrote the first book in a new middle-grade/young adult book series about a thirteen-year-old witch just coming into her powers and joining a witch coven. The book made the best-seller lists and you have your first signing for the books in Boston. As you are signing multiple books with witty messages, the faces of young girls slowly begin to mesh together. But then, one face materializes when you look up: it's Abigail, clutching a copy of the book to her chest. Excitement and glee turns to shock and surprise. Then, she says, "Daddy, it's HER!" You look up and there is Jeremy, standing behind her. But they are being pushed along, so you quickly sign the book, with a little personal message to Abby, signed "The Yellow Rose woman." They are ushered off. Only you can't really process what just happened.

Once the book signing is over, you retreat to your hotel room and cry. Your daughter was so close to you, and you let her get away again. After you assure yourself it was probably for the better, you decide to go out to your favorite restaurant. As you are seated at a table, flipping through the menu, a paper flower materializes on the table. You look up, and there is Jeremy, smiling down at you. He gestures over to where he is sitting with the three girls and asks if you would like to sit with them. You almost say no, but when you see your daughter's face, anxious and pleading, you can't say no.